Accounts: Joshua
by MHZn'EARTH
Summary: The chilling, gritty, unedited, and never seen before documents of the War.


_One of the many recollections of the frightening, harrowing and depressing accounts of those who did not survive the war. Joshua was a blogger, a rare hobby for a fifteen year old boy. This written account was found and documented for its rare view-point of the onslaught. _

Today is the day. The last. The day I die. I know it. Yesterday our neighbors in the Synapse Apartment complex were overrun. The screams and cries of a dying city have kinda' become a sort of white noise too me, so when those desperate cries started coming from the building next door, it didn't have much effect. I'm used to it now. Mr. Cowells, our apartment leader, and head Defender, didn't even bother gathering us up to tell us what happened. People saw battle from their windows and the news just kind of spread amongst us survivors. That's the fourth building to fall this week…and it's only Tuesday. Wow. That overused phrase "We're so dead" is starting to pop up into my brain more often now. Not good.

My dad keeps saying we'll make it. Because Mr. Cowells is a retired Air Force special ops or something. (I didn't even know the Air Force had special ops teams.) Apparently Cowells knows how to keep us safe. That's odd coming from my dad who used to say that America's military wasn't worth trusting with shit. Well that's obviously changed, now that he's depending on them to save his ass. Right now, I'm on the verge of accepting his opinion or dismissing it as a bunch of bull. I still haven't decided.

Anyway, now that we're next in line to die, hordes of the _things_, zombies, are chomping away at our apartments. They've started packing into the ground levels to eat out anyone still hiding down there and are trickling into the hallway with the stairs. I can see them flowing towards the building entrance, moaning as they come, grabbing and growling like animals. Some of our guards, the guys with the guns, have started taking shots at the ones in the streets. Blowing off their heads and wasting ammo. The doors to the steps leading from the ground floor have been super barricaded with everything from sofas to TVs. But I don't know how long that'll hold. The Z's have already wedged open the door enough for the skinny, decaying ones to start pulling themselves inside. Jason and Mr. Anthony are shooting the occasional ones that manage to pull themselves up and over the barricades. I can hear the pop of their guns now. But that's not the worst of our problems. The real stuff is still outside.

It started happening around Sunday. That's when the ever-growing ramps had first appeared. The things were just crowding around the sides of our building and slowly just started piling their way up to the second floor. You know, I'm not scared of the Z's anymore. Not since they started becoming a more common sight than people here in NYC. No, I'm not scared of em' at all…but those ramps…damn, they put me on edge. Seeing that sea of writhing bodes just stacking up like that does something to my mind. They're so desperate to get in. So mindless. So unrelenting. It makes me wonder: Who will give up first? Them or us? I still don't want to know the answer. I won't even write it down. It's too scary to think about. Sometimes I think about praying that we'll be like the Z's and never give up. I haven't though. Prayed, that is. IDK. Praying to invisibility seems so odd—right? Well, since dead people are outside, trying to eat us, anything is possible now days. Hell, maybe I should give God a chance. I mean, I've got a ramp of Z's leaping for my bedroom windowsill. Even right now, Danii—that country raised 24-year-old, who I have no idea why she's in the city—is shooting the things away from her balcony. (BTW, watching her shoot is totally worth it for any teenager guy :D) What else is there left to do but pray? The idiots on the news, before the power went out, kept reminding us to take our Philinax and remain calm. Are you serious? Who cares about cures when you're about to be eaten alive? No one. That's who. Yea, no one but the media and their fake reports about _help being on the way._ But hey, who am I to blame them? Maybe they're like everyone else in the apartment complex. Maybe they're like everyone else in this world. Clinging to false hope, denying the inevitable, trusting their own flawed nature, and refusing to believe in the eternal. Maybe…possibly…they're just like me. Alone and downcast in a world gone astray.

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**Authors Note:** This is based off of the World War Z book…not the movie. Hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you think!


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